


Transgression

by Spamberguesa



Series: Obsession [11]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Porn With Plot, all the feels, and she doesn't want to kill him, at least they balance each other, but a slightly more functional mess, but so is tauriel, galadriel is helping at least, mostly anyway, these two are still a mess, they're trying, thranduil is still a bit of a creeper, thranduil trusts tauriel enough to let her tie him up at least
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-20
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-04-16 05:43:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4613400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spamberguesa/pseuds/Spamberguesa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Galadriel attempts to help these two crazy kids be a little less crazy (and it starts working).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Tauriel was uncertain if she greeted Lady Galadriel’s visit with anticipation or dread.

She had heard tales of the Lady of the Golden Wood – from sources less biased than Thranduil – and was quite certain they could trust her. It was the thought of meeting someone so very powerful that daunted her – someone who might judge Tauriel for staying as harshly as everyone else did.

But then, Tauriel thought, stringing her bow in the sunshine, if she could truly see into people’s minds, she alone would be able to understand – possibly better even than Thranduil and Tauriel herself. That was the hope, anyway.

They likely had around two months to wait for the Lady’s arrival, assuming Legolas didn’t have too difficult a time convincing her. He probably wouldn’t, although Eru knew what nonsense he would fill her head with, with the best of intentions. Whatever came of this was likely to be vastly irritating at first.

\--

As with most evenings, Tauriel and the King were seen wandering about the halls, arm in arm, heads bent together, seemingly perfectly content. Even after all these weeks it had never ceased to be bizarre, but it was no longer shocking.

“ _How_ is that relationship not carnal?” Lady Ríniel asked, sounding almost as if she complained. “It would almost better if it was. At least it would be something simple and comprehensible.”

Silwen almost agreed. Almost. Watching the pair of them, how incredibly tactile they were with one another – would have actually made sense if they were going to bed in anything but the most literal sense, but it was obvious to anyone with eyes that they were not. The King’s caresses were near constant – Tauriel’s hand, her face, her hair – but there was _worship_ in them, not lust. The obsession and possessiveness were by now no surprise at all, and markedly less unsettling than they had once been.

And Tauriel…what of Tauriel? Unsurprisingly, there was no reverence in her touch, but there was a very great deal of affection. She often touched his face, smiling up at him, for some reason most frequently skimming his left cheek – Oh.

 _Oh_.

Silwen had to admit, she was stunned. Few still in Middle-Earth knew of Thranduil’s scars, but he must have shown them to Tauriel. That…dear Eru. He would not have shown her that if he was not wholly convinced that he loved her.

Lady Galadriel was going to have her work cut out for her. But, for the first time, Silwen wondered if the King did in truth actually love Tauriel, in some strange way. Always had Silwen – and everyone else – thought him delusional, his supposed feelings the result of his madness and nothing more, but to have betrayed such vulnerability…no mere madness or strange infatuation would have induced him to do that.

Silwen did not know if this was worse or better than she had thought. Possibly worse, because Tauriel, though obviously very fond of him, had no answering love in her green eyes – and, after all the King had put her through, probably never would.

How long would the King be content with that? How long could he bear the thought that the elleth he loved so desperately held only fondness and affection for him in return?

Hopefully Lady Galadriel could sort _that_ one out. Otherwise, sooner or later, they were going to have a very large problem.

But for now, the pair seemed content with their odd paradox of chaste need. Silwen prayed it would last until Lady Galadriel arrived.

\--

Galadriel was already well aware of the Woodland Realm’s tribulations. And for once, she was not entirely sure what to do.

Love was not an affliction that could be cured, and in a twisted way, Thranduil did indeed love Tauriel. His feelings were unhealthy, but they were genuine. Tauriel…Tauriel was another matter entirely. Her feelings and her need for her were equally genuine, but they were not the same. She did not love him, and she did not want him as he could so easily want her, were he to allow it of himself. He never _would_ allow it, but that restraint would cost him.

It had been a very, very long time since Galadriel had seen one as broken as Thranduil, and never one so torn between love and need and obsession with another person. It was as though he were her uncle Fëanor, and Tauriel a living Silmaril. Her uncle and her cousins had created much death and misery in their attempts to recover the lost jewels – it was extremely fortunate no one had actually tried to remove Tauriel from Thranduil by force, for in his madness they might well have faced a fourth Kinslaying.

Galadriel knew what Legolas would ask of her, and it was not what she would – or could – do. What he would see as damage had already been done; all she could do was override their obsession, or try to, and leave the good of what they felt for one another behind. It would not be perfect, but sometimes things that were broken could not help but leave cracks when they were repaired.

\--

Thranduil knew Tauriel was not yet ready to hear him tell her he loved her again, but when he felt the urge to say it, he would wait until they had gone to bed and trace the words up her spine with his fingers – in Quenya, so that he need not fear she would work it out. Using the language and alphabet of the Noldor was hardly ideal, but so long as she mourned, and so long as she had not forgiven him, he knew she did not want to think about it.

And though she did not know what he wrote, she did enjoy his touch – indeed, she practically purred like a cat. He had been so starved of any kind of touch since she and Legolas were children, because he was the King, and one did not touch the King. None but the Queen, who would never touch him again.

When she was like that, sprawled out contentedly alongside him, that dark thing in his mind wanted to break free. It wanted to keep her like this forever, all to himself, unwilling to share her with the outside world. It whispered that he could make her love him, if only he could isolate her long enough. He had named that shadow Eöl, and bound it away in chains at the back of his mind, where it could do nothing save whisper. No, he did not have Tauriel’s love, but he had her fondness and her affection, her companionship and laughter and the light that was slowly returning to her eyes once more.

That light exposed the shadow for the twisted thing it was, but Galadriel was likely the only one who would be able to actually banish it.

“You are very quiet tonight,” Tauriel said, twining a lock of his flaxen hair around her fingers. “What are you thinking?”

“I long for Galadriel’s visit,” he said, “and yet I dread it. If she cannot fix this, there are none left in Middle-Earth who can.”

“She will,” Tauriel said, her breath fanning warm over his chest. “I will not believe otherwise.”

“Then your faith must be enough for both of us, for now. I fear my own mind, Tauriel.”

“You are not the only one,” she sighed, her fingers trailing along his collarbone. “The dreams I have had…I do not know how my mind produces them, but I wish they would stop.”

“Do you have nightmares about your captivity?” he asked, though he already knew the answer. Her thrashing had woken him more than once.

“Sometimes,” she said, drawing a vague pattern over his shoulder. “Of late…of late they have been of things I might do to you. Things with the chain.”

Thranduil shut his eyes. The chain, that thrice-damned _chain_ – somehow, it was the worst for both of them. “I would deserve it,” he said.

“No,” she said. “No, you would not, but I cannot say more on it. You would think me evil.”

He shifted so he could look her in the eye, facing her on the pillow. “ _I_ would think _you_ evil?” he asked, incredulous.

“Thranduil, you fear what you could do to me physically,” she said, tucking his hair behind his ear. “What I could do…I will not say. They _are_ evil thoughts, and why I need Lady Galadriel. I do not want you to ever know them, for I do not want to know them myself.”

“I would never think you evil, Tauriel,” he said, tracing the line of her jaw with one long finger, “but if you feel you cannot tell me, I will ask no more.”

She shut her eyes. “Thank you, Thranduil.”

\--

_As if Thranduil’s words had summoned the shadows within her mind, Tauriel’s dreams were troubled._

_Normally she did not dream of inflicting actual physical harm upon him. Nearly always, the evil of her sleeping thoughts was the same as those which plagued her waking hours: she created myriad ways to use his feelings for her to destroy him. His love, however warped and twisted, was pure – she knew that now, and it would be so easy to crush him with it. Thranduil was so much more fragile than he knew, and a tiny, cruel thread within her mind wanted to smash him and all that he was._

_This night, though – this night was one of the deviations. And all the worse for it._

_In this dream it was night, moonlight pouring in through the open garden door. She’d chained Thranduil down onto the bed itself, his arms stretched taut, the manacles digging into his wrists as they had never done to her ankle. Smears of blood, so bright in the moonlight, traced down his forearms._

_When she looked down at him, she saw stark terror in his pale eyes, his silvery hair spread out over the pillow like a silken corona. He was so beautiful like this, offering her his fear._

_Tauriel traced her left hand down the smooth expanse of his chest, nails digging in hard enough that blood welled up in their wake. Thranduil’s hiss of pain made her smile, dark and delighted._

_“Tauriel,” he said, his voice unsteady. “Tauriel, I am sorry – I am sorry for_ everything. _”_

_She leaned down until she could whisper in his ear, inhaling the heady scent of him while she did. “Not half as sorry as you will be.”_

_And then came the letter-opener._

_The real thing had been destroyed, but this one was as wickedly sharp as the implement she’d opened her arms with. She didn’t cut Thranduil nearly so deeply, though, when she began drawing patterns across his chest with it. He had not let her die, want it though she had; she had no reason to let him._

_“Tauriel,” he tried again, swallowing hard, but no word followed her name._

_“_ What _, Thranduil?” she snarled, the tip of the blade pressing deeper into his skin.”You are sorry? Yes, you’ve said. You imprison me for months and chain me like an animal – what us is your sorrow to me now?”_

_Wisely, he said nothing._

_“I should leave you like this,” she said. “I ought to let you starve, but even I am not so cruel. When I am finished with you, I will grant you what you twice denied me.”_

_“What?” he asked, and there was a sheen of tears in his eyes._

_She leaned over him again, her hair brushing his face. “I’m going to kill you, Thranduil,” she said flatly, “and I’m going to make it_ hurt _.”_

_The sight of his terror, the slight hitch of breath in his chest, filled her with dark, alien satisfaction. Her grip tightened on the letter-opener –_

Mercifully, it was then that she woke, before she could actually dream of carving out Thranduil’s heart. Her own face was wet with tears, hot and bitter, salty where they touched her lips.

Why, _why_ must she dream such things? Why must she think them? She knew at least part of the answer, though she did not want to admit it.

Thranduil had never actually pain for his actions. He had made her life hell for six months, and even when he no longer actually locked her away, he spent another fortnight dictating her every move. Oh, he had paid a steep emotional price, but not nearly so steep as hers.

And that was why she wanted to find the chain. That shadow in her mind wanted him to suffer as she had suffered, to be so desperate that death seemed the only release.

The trouble, she thought, even as she tried to fight back her tears, was that that desire was not unwarranted. The fact that Thranduil knew he had wronged her, that he felt genuine guilt and sorrow for what he had done, did not change the fact that he had essentially got away with it.

Tauriel tried to rise without waking him, which of course didn’t work. Even now, he was unnaturally attuned to her.

“Tauriel, what is it?” he asked, his voice thick with sleep. 

She wanted to lie, to say she merely needed the toilet, but he would know – and she had promised not to lie to him. “Nightmare,” she said, not quite able to keep her voice steady.

He released her at once, and sat up the light the bedside lamp. The concern on his face was nearly heartbreaking. “Was it about me?” he asked.

Tauriel looked away. “Yes,” she said, “but not in the way you think.” The shadows in the corners all too perfectly mirrored the shadows in her mind.

Thranduil touched her chin, guiding her gaze back to him. “What was it?”

“You would think me evil,” she said again.

“I could never think you evil,” he said, brushing his thumb down her cheekbone. “Tell me, Tauriel. Tell me what it was.”

She shut her eyes, unable to meet his. “It dreamt I chained you to the bed,” she said, “and carved into your chest with the letter-opener. You were terrified and in pain and _I liked it_.” It was all she could do not to sob. What was wrong with her?

Silence followed that, but after a moment, Thranduil gathered her close, his chin rested on top of her head. ‘I know why you dreamt that,” he said, his voice laden with guilt and sorrow, “and I think I know what you must do, so that you do not dream it again.”

“What?” she asked, sniffling, pressing her face against the hot skin of his shoulder.

He stroked her hair. “You must do it in reality.”

Tauriel froze, but when she tried to lean back to look at him, he wouldn’t let her. “ _What?_ ” she asked, icy horror flooding her veins.

“The suffering I have felt since your release is all of my own design,” he said gravely. “You have never made me pay.”

“But Thranduil, even at your worst, you never did to me what I dream of doing to you,” she protested. “You confined me, and terrified me, but you never _hurt_ me.”

“No,” he said, “but I drove you to hurt yourself.”

Now he finally let her sit back, and she saw the sheen of tears, of crushing _guilt_ in his eyes. “Thranduil, I _can’t_ ,” she said. “When I am awake, I cannot bear the sight of your pain. To deliberately cause you more…I am not that cruel. I could never be that cruel.”

“Then here is what we must do,” he said, his thumb tracing the track of a tear she had not known had fallen. “Things will be quiet until the harvest. I will tell the Council I am taking leave, unless some dire emergency appears, and you will imprison me until your shadow has had its revenge.”

Tauriel was appalled to find that her shadow, as he called it, _liked_ the idea. But there was far more to consider than sating it. “Thranduil, I will not risk your sanity,” she said. “Or mine, for that matter. We are both so fragile.”

“Galadriel will come,” he said, “and you will never be free of your nightmares if you do not give vent to them.”

Tauriel heaved a sigh. “I will not confine you as you did me,” she said. “It is not what I dream of anyway. Nor will I physically harm you – I do not truly wish to. But what I will do, for it is the only way you will truly understand, is chain you each night. Even if it is only for a few hours each evening, you will still have some idea of what I endured.”

Thranduil froze, but in this she did not feel guilty. Out of everything else, all she had gone through, the chain was and remained the worst of it, and probably always would. And perhaps, if he felt it himself, her shadow’s desire for vengeance would be sated. “Why would you not leave it on overnight?” he asked at last.

“Because you did not. I do not wish to torture you, Thranduil. I only wish that you understand, even a little, what I felt.”

He shut his eyes, resting his forehead against his. Do whatever you must, Tauriel,” he said. “Whatever it takes. You are right – I have no real understanding of what you endured in my madness. Tomorrow I will retrieve the chain, and you can do with it, and me, as you see fit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it just me, or could this actually be kind of cathartic? Thranduil, for all he knows that what he did was totally, utterly _wrong_ , still really doesn’t get it. He _can’t_ , having never endured anything like it himself. While this might only be a taste of what Tauriel endured, it’s more than he’s had so far.


	2. Reimpression

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There have been so many parts to this thing that I figured I ought to start lumping them all into one story -- especially since I don't know how many more there will be.
> 
> Believe it or not, there’s actually (finally) a little humor in this chapter. Poor Thranduil.

Thranduil fetched the chain himself, very early the next morning – having a servant bring it would only start rumors. He had to admit, he felt no small amount of trepidation, but he deserved it and he knew it. He would do much worse to take away Tauriel’s nightmares; he truly had been fully prepared to let her carve up his chest.

For he had more than enough nightmares of his own. The most common of them was actually the worst – in it, he had not reached the room in time after her first attempt to take her own life, and found her dead in a crimson pool of her own blood. Somehow within the dream he would wake to find her standing beside the bed, corpse-pale, her dead eyes boring into his, torn arms reaching for him and dripping blood on the counterpane. She reached for his throat, and the worst, the absolute _worst_ part was that he wanted to let her – wanted to give her in death the vengeance she had not been granted in life.

Perhaps this would expiate his own nightmares, too. She would exact her payment in a way that would not leave her feeling guilty, as inflicting physical pain would, no matter how much he deserved it.

When he brought the thing to their rooms, Tauriel had already gone for the day, and Thranduil was very nearly physically ill when he affixed one end to the bedpost, sick with guilt. At the time, he had seen absolutely nothing wrong with it – it truly had been for her protection in his mind, and nothing more. How could he have been so mad?

He didn’t know, but there was nothing to be done about it now, save give Tauriel the tools for her revenge.

It preyed on his mind all day, while he went over paperwork and heard petitions (including from the increasingly amusing Lord Falchon). What would Tauriel make of even seeing the thing again? He had not thought of that, and he doubted she had, either. Hopefully she would not reach home before he did, and be forced to confront it on her own.

He hurried back that evening, as much as a necessarily stately dignitary _could_ safely hurry. Out of long habit, all in his way scattered to the edges of paths and parapets, drawing robes and skirts aside while he swept past, his worry mounting with every step.

Fortunately, that worry was unfounded. The room was dark and hearth cold when he arrived. He lit the lamps and built up the fire, tucking the chain under the bed, so that she would not see it right away.

Shedding his outer robe, he called for Galion to send for diner, and sat on the divan, wondering if he was doing the right thing.

Tauriel deserved her revenge, but what if it ultimately did her more harm than good? What if even seeing the chain brought her own horrible memories back in sharp relief? Would it be worth it?

Well, they wouldn’t know until they tried. He’d promised her she could do it; he could hardly go back on his word now. So he poured himself a very large glass of wine and stoked the fire, the scent of alcohol and wood smoke oddly calming.

Dinner arrived at the same time as Tauriel – roast beef and fresh salad, plucked from the gardens that morning. Tauriel looked at it with undisguised greed, even as she kicked off her boots.

When she looked at him, however, her expression went very strange: somehow, it managed to encompass trepidation, sorrow, and a worrying triumph. She knew she should not want to do this, but want it some part of her did. Pale though she was, her face was flushed across her cheeks and nose, her eyes alight with something that almost made him nervous.

 _That_ , however, didn’t last; it was replaced largely by her typical affection. The smile she gave him was like all of those she granted, warm and fond as she set her boots by the door and shed her cloak onto the nearest chair.

“I am starving,” she said, sitting across from him, “and where is that chain?”

Well, that was straight and to the point. It must have been preying on her mind as much as it had been on his, if obviously in a different way.

Thranduil rose to fetch it with no small amount of unease. She seemed a bit too eager, but he could hardly fault her for it. He had forgotten until this morning how heavy it actually was, the links clinking as it dragged across the floor.

“You must understand, Thranduil, that I do not do this to torture you,” she said, her eyes like feverish green stars. “But if we are ever to have any hope of moving pas this, you do need to understand what I felt. Right ankle.” He’d always chained her right, though he could not now remember why.

He managed to hold still when she fastened the manacle around his ankle, carefully adjusting it as he had done each morning, making certain it was not too tight. The thing was padded, and would cause no harm; it was merely heavy. Very heavy, and not just physically.

Once that was accomplished, Tauriel returned to being, well, _Tauriel_ , loading up her plate and pouring some wine. She seemed for all the world to be unaware of the chain’s existence – exactly as he had been.

“I think Huoriel has finally come around,” she said, dishing meat onto his plate. “Or in any event, I think she’s resigned herself. She no longer looks at me as though I am utterly mad when I speak of you, and where she goes, others will follow.”

Thranduil sat, trying to ignore the clink of the chain when he moved, but even when he was still, the weight of it was always there. And _that_ , no matter what he did, he could not ignore. “If only the nobles would follow suit,” he said, downing half a glass of wine at one go. “Still I receive judgment, pity, or some odd combination of both.”

“The judgment is almost more welcome than the pity,” she said, pouring him more wine. “At least with judgment they don’t also look at you like you are utterly stupid. I still have people who talk to me as though I am a child, and a slow one at that. I’ve been rather tempted to repeat what I did to Legolas, more than once.”

“Why have you not?” Thranduil asked, trying to focus on her words, and not the weight around his ankle. How much worse had it been for her, who had also been constantly afraid of what he would do if she misspoke? They’d spent _months_ like this, and all the while he had been utterly ignorant to her silent suffering. It was a wonder she hadn’t tried to kill herself again long before her second attempt.

“I doubt it would help,” she said, before taking a bite of salad. “It would only make me look like more of a lunatic. And neither of us needs _that_ right now.”

“No,” he said, fighting the urge to itch his ankle, “we do not. Not when Galadriel is still weeks away. I only hope Legolas does not fill her head with too much nonsense.”

“Eru knows he will try,” Tauriel said dryly. “When you’ve finished with that, come over here so I can comb your hair.”

\--

Tauriel thought she could spot the exact moment of Thranduil’s true comprehension – he was not longer as inscrutable as he might wish, at least to her. Terrible understanding entered his eyes, along with a truly strange succession of horror, grief, and guilt.

It made her want to take the damn chain off immediately, but the lesson might not stick if she did. He did not fear her as she had him, but even if she’d been able to frighten him like that, she wouldn’t do it. He was a smart ellon; he would work that out for himself.

The hair-combing was another thing he had done, but she did not do it now to unsettle him – she just liked playing with his hair. How he got it so soft, she still didn’t know; it slid through her fingers like strands of silk, its normal silvery hue stained red-gold in the firelight. The comb slipped through it like water, and her fingers followed in its wake, smoothing what did not actually need to be smoothed.

Thranduil relaxed under her ministrations, rather like a cat – quite often when she stroked his hair, she half expected him to start purring. Unfortunately, she knew, it would make taking later notice of the chain all the worse. There had been times she had almost managed to forget it, if she sat in a certain way, and the inevitable reminder had always made her shudder, drowning in horror all over again.

 _This is for his own good._ And it really was, as well as hers; if she knew he had a better grasp of part of what she had endured, her dark wish for vengeance might vanish. Perhaps that was one less thing for Lady Galadriel to deal with.

Tauriel set the comb aside and wrapped her arms around him, resting her head on the back of his shoulder. Maybe he would take a bit of comfort from this.

“Tauriel,” he said, his voice careful and oddly strained, “I do not think the lesson you wish to impart with this chain is going to work if you keep touching me.”

“What?” she asked, bewildered, even as she sat up. “Why?”

“If you would please give me a moment,” he said, sounding even more strained.

She stood, outright worried now – oh.

 _Oh_.

Well, this was embarrassing. The tent in Thranduil’s trousers was impossible to miss, and she turned away, face flaming. “I’ll, um…I’ll go fetch more wine. From the cellar.” She didn’t quite know why _she_ was so mortified, but she was. She really, really was.

“Thank you,” he said, and she all but fled.

\--

Thranduil had lived for a very long time, but this might just be the most embarrassing thing he had ever endured. Never once had he allowed any of Tauriel’s touches to elicit any desire in him, but evidently, so long as she was touching while he wore it, he _liked_ the damn chain. And that was a realization he really could have done without.

Until then, though, her lesson had been horrifyingly effective. Even when he sat perfectly still, and the chain made no noise at all, he was always aware of it, clamped securely around his ankle. It wasn’t painful in the least, but it was still awful. Though Tauriel spoke and interacted with him as she had always done, he felt like an animal, a _thing_ – something kept as a possession, without regard to any thought or will of his own.

And he had kept her like this for _months_.

He was tempted to hang himself with the damn thing – indeed, he wondered why she hadn’t, during those times he left her alone for the day. She must be stronger even than he had thought.

That realization was enough to take care of his _problem_ for him. He’d known for months that he’d wronged her, but until now he had not really understood the depth of what he’d put her through. He still didn’t; a single evening with the chain was nowhere near enough.

He should have released her ages ago, but he couldn’t now – she was mired in this obsession as deeply as he was. For better or worse, they were in this for life. And Eldar lived forever.

 _Hurry, Galadriel_ , he thought. _Before we destroy one another_.

After another fifteen minutes or so, Tauriel appeared, bearing a very large jug of wine. “Are you…decent?” she called.

“Yes,” Thranduil said, shutting his eyes in utter mortification.

She crept the rest of the way into the room, setting the jug on the table and pouring two very large glasses. “Thranduil,” she said, taking hers with her to one armchair, “have you ever… _that_ …when I’ve touched you before?”

“No,” he said, staring into the burgundy depths of his glass. “Terrible as this sounds, I think it was the addition of the chain.”

“The addition – _what_?” she asked, voice laden with bewilderment.

He forced himself to look up at her, distressed by the heat in his face. “Some people are like that,” he said. “Not until now did I realize that _I_ was one of them, but apparently I am.”

Thranduil expected Tauriel to be revolted, horrified – he did _not_ expect her to start giggling. “You learn something new every day,” she said, before dissolving into helpless laughter.

Now he was annoyed as well as embarrassed, but if it made her laugh, he would endure it. At least he was quite certain she would keep it to herself.

She sobered soon enough, however. “Have you learned anything else while wearing it?”

“Yes,” he sighed. “I should hang myself for what I have done to you. I thought I knew, but I had no idea. You ought to have killed me in my sleep. Eru knows it would have been execution, not murder.”

Now it was Tauriel who looked away, staring into the dancing fire. “I thought about it,” she admitted. “More than once.”

He should not be surprised, yet he was. “What stopped you?”

She shut her eyes. “I knew there was no way you would die before you woke,” she said, “and then you would have killed me.”

Thranduil ran a despairing hand over his face. “I would never have killed you, Tauriel,” he said, “though you would not like what I would have done. I would have bound your hands each night, and not released them until I left in the morning.”

He didn’t need to look at her to sense her shudder. “Look at us,” she sighed. “What a pair we make. We really are as mad as everyone says.”

Her mouth twitched into a half-smile before he could respond. “At least we know now that if I wish to punish you, binding is not the way to go about it.”

Thranduil laughed, though he also shut his eyes in humiliated resignation. “I will never live that down, will it?”

“No,” she giggled, “no, you will not. I had heard that there are people who like that sort of thing, but to my knowledge, I have never _met_ anyone before.”

Was it possible for someone to actually die of mortification? Thranduil was very much afraid he was going to find out. The worst part, the absolute, completely worst part, was hat something far back in his brain would not at all mind if Tauriel wanted to bind him and torment him like that, so long as she didn’t actually _stop_. And _that_ he could never let her know. It was a thought to be kept in the privacy of his evening bath. _Quietly_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Thranduil. He’s so often written as masterful and dominant (and he is quite a bit in this fic, too, really) that I loved the idea of shaking that up and having him get turned on by _not_ being in control for once. And Tauriel will tease him for it until the end of time. At least he’s started learning an actual serious lesson, too.


	3. Perpession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Galadriel arrives, and help is at hand.

Tauriel spent the rest of that evening and much of the next morning trying not to giggle. She had to school her expression into something less amused before she left, because she could hardly tell anyone _why_ she was laughing.

Naturally, she’d at first been completely shocked, but the humor in the situation had caught up to her fairly swiftly. It was so very unexpected, and quite ridiculous, and that it should happen to _Thranduil_ of all people…apparently he _did_ have a weakness unrelated to his madness. She wondered if he would tell Galadriel about it, or if she would have to do it for him. And yet….

And yet.

She’d never seen Thranduil aroused in any fashion – she believed him when he said all his other touches had been chaste. The sight…did something to her. It was not precisely answering desire, for she had not wish for him to do anything to her, but some part of her was curious about what _she_ could do to _him_. Even at the height of his madness, Thranduil was always so self-controlled…what would it take, to make him break that control?

Perhaps binding him was not such a terrible idea of a punishment after all. Tauriel had no experience at all in such matters, but she’d heard ellyn were easy to torment in that way.

That would, however, open a massive jar of bees she was uncertain she could deal with. She felt safe lying in his arms each night because she knew he did not want her in that way. Should he _start_ wanting her, but subsume it for her sake…it would change things. Perhaps in way she would be unable to handle.

No, that thought was best left not acted upon. What they had with one another was strange and nameless and achingly fragile, sustained by its purity. Tauriel was unwilling to risk it simply for the sake of her own curiosity. Perhaps Lady Galadriel could shed some light on it, whenever she arrived. Eru knew there was so much else to ask her.

\--

If anyone noticed Thranduil moved through the day with excessive dignity, they were wise enough not to comment. He did not snap at anyone, which was all they really cared about.

He was still utterly mortified, though he was beginning to see the humor in the situation. Never had he seen Tauriel so flustered and awkward – it almost made the embarrassment worth it. At least he knew she would never, ever tell anyone.

Even as he sorted through reports, he wondered if, someday, she might be willing to do that again, only more so. He could not at all say he would mind if she decided to chain him to his bed and take her ire out in whatever way she saw fit. As long as it didn’t involve knives, anyway.

Unfortunately, it chiseled a crack in the door of his mind that kept all potential desire locked way. He could not allow the door to open, because Tauriel would sense it. She felt safe now with him because he did _not_ want her; what would she do, if he did? She wouldn’t run – she was now no more capable of that than he was – but it would change things. 

But the door was cracking, and there did not seem to be anything he could do about it. What lay behind it was not lust, exactly; was not the base, carnal craving of the Edain, or even the desire he had felt for his wife. This was…strangely pure. He wanted not to take, but to give – Tauriel was almost certainly completely inexperienced in such matters, and the things he could give her…he wanted to hear her moans, to drink her sighs, to watch her eyes drift shut and feel her back arch. _That_ was what he wanted, what he could all too easily crave. What he was terribly afraid he _would_ crave, all too soon.

Thranduil could not tell her that – not yet, and possibly not ever. Whatever they had with one another was too new, and he knew that neither of them were precisely sane. Perhaps later, once Galadriel had done all she could for them – _then_ he would speak of it to Tauriel, and hope he would not revolt her.

\--

The next weeks settled into a routine, in which neither spoke of that embarrassing evening. The hot days of summer passed, and Tauriel spent every single one of them outside, soaking up the sunshine. Even yet she had nightmares of being locked away from it, though she never told Thranduil of them. She had no idea when they would go away, or if they ever would.

Slowly, the odd looks and pitying stares eased away, as people grew accustomed to seeing her and Thranduil together. The fact that weeks went by with neither of them winding up imprisoned, dead, or mutilated no doubt helped.

The nights, though – Tauriel was grateful that nothing about Thranduil’s regard for her had changed, and yet part of her could not help but wonder. She couldn’t remove certain mental images of him surrendering to her utterly out of her head. She’d spent months so afraid of how easily he could dominate her, yet all it took was her touch and a chain for her to dominate _him_.

Perhaps, once they’d both spoken to Galadriel, she would one day bring it up again. She didn’t think there was anything _vicious_ in her desire – she didn’t want to hurt or harm Thranduil, or torment him in any way he would not thoroughly enjoy. She had no doubt at all that he would let her, if she asked, but she needed to see Galadriel first – alone. She needed to be certain.

For now, she was content to run through drills, still rebuilding the strength she had lost during her captivity. The hot sun beat down on her shoulders, the breeze ruffled through her hair, and she was as close to happy as she actually could be. Still she mourned Kili, which was the other thing that held her back from any physical pursuits with Thranduil. While it did not _feel_ like betrayal, it probably was, and she was just too mad to see it.

She was dismayed to find that she was dismayed by the sight of Legolas crossing the training yard. He was her friend – she ought to be glad to see him, but instead she still wanted to punish him a little. At least now she had the willpower not to _act_ on that want.

“Legolas,” she said, but could not quite bring herself to add, _it is good to see you._

“I have brought Lady Galadriel,” he said. “Are you…well, Tauriel?”

“Yes, I am,” she said. “About ready to meet with you on the sparring mats again, I think.”

“I do not know what my father would say about that,” he said, a trace of bitterness in his tone.

“He can _say_ whatever he likes,” Tauriel retorted. “He has accepted that I will train again, whether he likes it or not. Have you eaten?”

“Not yet. Adar has sent for dinner for the three of us and Lady Galadriel, though apparently I am not to linger long,” he said, with a faint scowl.

Tauriel felt rather bad for being so relieved by that. “All will be well, Legolas.”

“So long as you are with my father, no, it will not,” he said, his scowl deepening.

Her eyes narrowed. “If you are going to be like _that_ , you can walk by yourself. This has only just started to be accepted by everyone, and I will not have you spoiling it.”

He opened his mouth, and she actually waved her finger at him. “ _No_ ,” she said. “If all you have to say are unpleasant things, I would rather you say nothing.”

She stalked off, mood thoroughly spoiled. Drawing a deep breath, she reminded herself that Lady Galadriel was here now – soon they would find out what, if anything, could be done about…everything.

Changing her clothes would probably be a good idea, so she stopped by the guard room to swap her sweaty tunic for a clean one, brushing the worst of the knots from her hair. She couldn’t go before the Lady of Lothlórien looking like, well… _her_.

Fortunately, she didn’t run into Legolas on her way, and so had mostly eased her own temper away by the time she’d made it home. She kicked off her boots in the doorway out of habit, kissed Thranduil on the cheek, and flopped onto the divan.

“Your son is home,” she grumbled. “You will be pleased to know I did not kick him, though almost as soon as he spoke, I wanted to.”

“I had warned him not to speak to you.”

That was not Thranduil’s voice. Tauriel sat up so suddenly that she almost fell off the divan, and found that the desk had been cleared away from the study, a table set up in its place. And at it, garbed in radiant white, sat Lady Galadriel.

Tauriel instantly felt like the basest, coarsest creature in the universe. The Lady actually seemed to exude her own light, a pale, luminescent radiance like the moon, her hair a river of gold shot with silver. Tauriel stared at her, tongue-tied, and Thranduil laughed.

“I think you have startled her,” he said, taking Tauriel by the hand and helping her to her feet. “Lady Galadriel, this is Tauriel. Tauriel, meet the Lady of Lothlórien.”

“I apologize, my lady,” she said, bowing. “You did indeed startle me. I had not thought to find you here yet.”

“I thought it best to see you both,” the Lady said, “and then speak with you separately. Legolas, I think, might or might not be joining us now.”

“I do not think he will,” Thranduil said, leading Tauriel to the table. “No doubt he will want you to view us alone, and come to your own conclusions as to how mad and broken we are.”

“You cannot exactly say he is _wrong_ ,” Tauriel said, sitting. “It is just – not in the way he thinks.”

Dinner arrived before she could say more – roast venison and baked vegetables, and a welcome carafe of chilled wine. She drank _that_ sparingly, not wanting to make an even bigger fool of herself.

“Legolas told me many things,” Lady Galadriel said, “but I would hear from the pair of you. What is it that you both want?”

Tauriel looked at Thranduil, who looked at her. “For my part, I wish to be – whole, I suppose, or as close as I can be. I know that I am…broken.”

“And did Thranduil break you?”

She looked at Galadriel, at the Lady’s calm, blue, _blue_ eyes. “No,” she said. “He made it worse, but he was not the cause. I suffered grievous loss after the Battle of Five Armies, though I do not suppose Legolas would fully understand it. Thranduil magnified it immensely, but he was not its cause.” She didn’t miss his flinch out of the corner of her eye, but it was the truth, and she would not spare him.

“And you, Thranduil?” Galadriel asked.

He sighed. “I would be free of this madness,” he said. “It has plagued me for so long that I have forgotten what it is like, to be without it. I want to do for Tauriel as I should have done, were I not mad.”

Lady Galadriel was quiet a moment, looking from one to the other. “You paint for me a very different picture than Legolas,” she said, “but I am not surprised by that. I will do what I can for you, but I cannot wholly heal either of you. There are some things only time can mend.”

“I would be grateful for anything, my lady,” Tauriel said. “Anything at all.”

\--

Thranduil and Tauriel were more or less as Galadriel had expected to find them, after her last look in her Mirror. Their want was pure, even if their execution was lacking.

She spoke with Tauriel first, while Thranduil prowled the garden outside the closed door. The girl, unusually small for one of the Eldar, sat perched on the edge of her seat in an armchair, fiddling with the hem of her tunic.

“I have not forgiven him, my lady,” she said, “and in truth, I am uncertain I _want_ to. I wish to move forward, but I can never forget what he put me through. There was – well, it’s been rendered a bit ridiculous now, by, um, later happenings, but he chained me to his bedpost while he was away, for I do not know how long. I had nightmares about it, until…well, _recently_.” Her face flamed nearly as red as her hair, and Galadriel’s eyebrows rose.

“Yes?” she prompted gently.

“I had Thranduil wear the chain himself for an evening, so that he might better understand what I felt,” she said, and looked away. “The problem is that he, um, _liked_ it. In a way neither he nor I expected.”

It took every ounce of self-control Galadriel had to keep from bursting out laughing. “I would not have expected that of him, either. I take it that lesson was a failure?”

“Well, yes and no,” Tauriel said, squirming a little. “He was horrified by the chain at first – I think he did begin to have some understanding, but then I made him sit so that I could comb his hair, as he had always done to me. _That_ was when he had his…problem.”

Galadriel laughed before she could help herself. “I would imagine he was mortified.”

“We _both_ were,” Tauriel groaned, burying her face in her hands. “I went to the cellar for some wine, to give him some, er, privacy. But the thing…Lady Galadriel, the thing is that I want to chain him down and make him do that again, but I do not know why. I have never thought of him that way, and in a sense, I still do not. Am I…wrong, for wanting that?”

This poor, confused child. “There is nothing wrong with what you want, Tauriel,” Galadriel said. “You must speak to Thranduil about it, however, so that it does not prey on your mind. But what will you think, if he wants you as well?”

Tauriel chewed on her lower lip. “I do not know,” she said. “What we have…I like. It is simple, if not comprehensible even to us. My only comfort all those months was that he did _not_ want me in that way. And there were times I would have been aware of it, if he had,” she added ruefully. “But now…oh, now I am unsure of anything, save that I do not want to leave.”

“When you feel safe for him to let himself want you, _then_ speak to him about the chain,” Galadriel said.

Tauriel tilted her head to one side. “ _Let_ himself?”

“He could want you, very easily, if he would allow it of himself,” Galadriel explained. “If he knows that would cause you distress, he would simply not allow it. I do not need to speak to him in private to know that he loves you, in his own incredibly damaged way, and it is because he loves you that he will not let himself want. Not unless you tell him he can.”

By her expression, the poor girl had never thought of that. “Oh,” she said.

“‘Oh’ indeed. You need not rush into any decisions, Tauriel. It is not as though either of you are going anywhere.” Mortifying though the situation with the chain had no doubt been, it was good that the girl have something to associate with the thing that wasn’t awful. It meant it was slightly healthier for her _to_ stay. Slightly.

“True,” she said, and Galadriel could almost _see_ the thoughts churning in her head. “I feel – I feel guilty, though, because I know Thranduil loves me, but I don’t love him. Not in that way, anyway.”

“Of course you do not,” Galadriel said gently, “nor will you, so long as you grieve. Thranduil knows this. He would not want you to try to feel anything that does not come naturally, and he would never ask anything of you.”

“But how can I love him if I can’t forgive him? Because I do not think I could _ever_ forgive him.”

“Nor should you. That, Tauriel, is what you and I must work with. I suspect it is related to what I must work on with Thranduil, for he will never forgive himself.”

“I hope he won’t, either,” Tauriel muttered. “I know that sounds terrible, but…I can’t help it.”

Galadriel reached out and took her hand. “Tauriel, all of this has taken place in less than a year,” she said. “Give yourselves a decade to work things out. Your people are beginning to accept it, if not understand it. I will speak to Legolas – much of his anger stems from guilt.”

“I hit him, when he first came home,” Tauriel said. “A lot. And kneed him in the groin.”

Galadriel didn’t wince, but she also didn’t have much pity for Legolas. He really had been appallingly thoughtless. “You had every right to. For now, child, let things be as they are. We will help you untangle exactly what it is that you feel.”

\--

Thranduil did not want to admit he was nervous, but nervous he was. What was Tauriel telling Galadriel? What would Galadriel tell _her_?

He paced the garden, restless, while the moon rose. The leaves filtered its light into something silver-green, rustling on the faint breeze. They had been speaking for nearly an hour now, and while that was likely a good thing, still he was unsettled. 

When Tauriel came into the garden, however, she seemed thoughtful, but calm, and kissed his cheek before sending him inside.

This went against centuries of self-training. Thranduil had not truly confided in anyone since the loss of his wife, and his every instinct urged him not to do so now. He _had_ to, however, and so he forced himself to sit facing Galadriel – who looked worryingly amused.

“Tauriel tells me you have an unexpected fondness for chains,” she said.

He was absolutely horrified to feel his face heat. Of _course_ she would tell Galadriel that. “I will thank you to keep that to yourself,” he said stiffly. “And I do not know if ‘fondness’ is the word I would use. I can only thank Eru she was not entirely revolted.”

“If you would actually speak to her of it, I think you would find her merely curious,” Galadriel said. “What she clearly does not realize is that you have her at an enormous disadvantage. You have stalked her for so much of her life that there is little about her that you do not know, whether she would want you to or not. If you at all wish to level the field, you must be prepared to answer whatever questions she has, so long as answering them would not bring harm upon another.”

That…was an appalling thought. Thranduil was, after all, far older than Tauriel, and had more nightmares in his memory and history than she could imagine. Certainly more than he would ever _want_ her to.

“For some of them, she would hate me,” he said quietly.

Galadriel actually arched one golden eyebrow. “ _Thranduil_ ,” she said flatly, “if Tauriel were going to hate you, she would have already done it by now. I will be blunt: nothing you could tell her would be worse than what you have _done_ to her. You have been a complete fool, and I marvel at her affection for you, but affection she has, and it is genuine. Legolas was quite convinced it had been coerced somehow, but I see it has not.”

“I am glad _someone_ does,” he sighed. “I marvel at it myself, and I am eternally grateful for it, but it is only within the last weeks that any have begun looking at us as anything other than a disaster waiting to happen.”

“You can hardly _blame_ them,” Galadriel said dryly. “I believe I can help you both, Thranduil, but not immediately. As I advised Tauriel, for now you simply must continue on as you are. I will watch, and advise as necessary. We can only got from there.”

\--

That night, wrapped up in Thranduil’s arms, Tauriel’s heart felt lighter than it had since before the battle. Perhaps the pair of them were not doomed to destroy one another after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Tauriel, there is hope. You two are never going to be healthy, but at least you might be a bit less sick.


	4. Intercession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Thranduil allows Tauriel a lot of trust, and a little room to play. Here be porn. Sort of.

The arrival of Lady Galadriel created quite a stir among the residents of the Woodland Realm, many of whom assumed she had come to take stringent action against the King and Tauriel. They were thus very surprised to find it was apparently otherwise.

Still the pair went for their evening walks – sometimes alone, sometimes with Galadriel – and very little appeared to change. She did not seem to have come to break them apart, which was something of a relief, because nobody wanted to see what either would do if someone tried.

“She must not think it anything _too_ terrible,” Ríniel said to Silwen on one of their morning walks. “Surely if she were concerned, things would have changed.”

“Perhaps,” Silwen said. She did not know Galadriel well, but she did know that the Lady never rushed into anything. She would want to watch them – possibly for years, if she could be spared from Lothlórien for so long.

Silwen had to grudgingly admit that her husband might be right. The King and Tauriel had settled into a routine before Galadriel arrived, stable and apparently not much different from that of any other couple. There had been no crises, no fights – just a remarkable domesticity.

If only their relationship was not founded on madness and captivity. Sooner or later, Silwen was certain, that would take its toll. It _had_ to.

And even now, that possessiveness lingered in the king’s eyes, mirrored to an unnerving degree by Tauriel’s. If Galadriel meant to cure them of _that_ , she would need all the luck and skill in the world.

\--

Summer passed into autumn, and for the first time in centuries, the King came out to observe the harvest. It perhaps wasn’t so much of a surprise; the Guard had often helped when needed, and Tauriel had been among them. She did so now as well, though the workers supposed it would be beneath the King’s dignity to join her. He watched her fondly, and if that strange obsession lingered in his eyes, most were used to it by now. At the end of the day he would wipe the smudges of dirt from her face, and kiss her brow, and lead her off to dinner, as though they were any normal pair. 

When the first snow came, many went outside to enjoy it – the King and Tauriel among them, well bundled against the cold. Lady Galadriel followed, watching both with her unfathomable blue eyes. She seemed to find nothing odd in their seeming need for constant physical contact – most of the denizens of the Woodland Realm didn’t, but they’d been around it much longer.

The snow frosted Tauriel’s red hair, catching in her eyelashes, and the King kissed the flakes of white away with a smile, heedless of the fact that others could see. _That_ did unsettled them; Elven couples were very intimate, but usually not in public. Holding hands was usually as far as Eldar couples went, but the King seemed quite content to kiss Tauriel everywhere but her lips in front of Eru and everybody. The only thing that kept it from being unbearably awkward was that even now, there was chastity to it. Uncomfortably intimate as they sometimes were, it was never in a way that ought to be confined to a bedroom. It was perhaps understandable that Tauriel would not yet wish to consummate whatever odd union she had with the King, but he never looked at her with that manner or desire, not even when she wasn’t looking at him. They really were a strange, _strange_ pair.

\--

The first time Thranduil gave Tauriel a truly premeditated kiss, they were out in his private garden one frigid dawn, watching the rising sun paint the snow rose and gold. Though it was chaste, it lingered longer than the others, and he stroked the line of her jaw with his thumb before drawing back to look at her. Her cheeks were faintly pink, and not only from cold.

“Thranduil,” she said, with unusual hesitance, “would you—” She trailed off, her face growing even pinker.

“Would I what?” he asked, tracing the line of her jaw again.

She drew a deep breath. “Would you let me chain you to your bed and do…things… to you? I am not ready for anything for _myself_ , but I am…curious.”

Thranduil was somewhat appalled to find his face heat – surely he was matching her blush. “Curious?” he asked, arching an eyebrow. Quite frankly, part of him _loved_ the idea, even as it also embarrassed him.

Tauriel ducked her head. “Curious,” she affirmed. “I want – I want to see what I can make you feel.”

It actually made sense for more reasons than she was possibly aware of. She would quite literally have him at her mercy, and could control what he did or did not feel. It would give her absolute power over him. He was a bit disturbed by how pleasant the thought was. “If you feel you are ready for such a thing, Tauriel, I would be pleased to put myself at your mercy.”

The light in her eyes bordered on unholy. Belatedly, he wondered if he should be nervous.

\--

Tauriel really had no idea just what she thought she was doing, but she’d gone too far to stop now. The idea had been preying on her mind for months, and she had decided that it was finally time to act on it. 

Nevertheless, she felt somewhat awkward when she sought something that could be used for bonds. Acquiring actual chains without alerting anyone would be rather difficult, but Thranduil had an assortment of scarves that she knotted into something like rope, testing the strength of the knots. At least she was already more than familiar with Thranduil minus all his clothing, even if not at all in this sense.

What would this change? Many things, probably, and it was likely terribly ill-advised, but at this point she simply couldn’t help it. Her curiosity demanded to be sated.

“All right, Thranduil,” she said, trying so hard to fight her blush, and utterly losing. “I’ve had…ideas for this.”

“For how long?” he asked, arching an amused eyebrow.

“Long enough,” she said, tying one scarf-rope to the left bedpost. “Take off everything but your trousers, for now,” she ordered, trying to sound as commanding as she could.

“For now?” he asked, shedding his silvery outer-robe.

“I will decide if you get to lose _them_ or not,” she said, with as much imperiousness as she could muster. She moved around the bed, tying another scarf to the right post. In truth, she was unsure how far she wanted to take this, though really, if she were going to go to all this trouble, she might as well take it all the way. She still couldn’t quite believe she was doing this, honestly. Her face certainly felt as though it were about to catch on fire.

She assembled a few things while Thranduil shed his layers of clothing – a lark’s feather she’d found in the garden some weeks ago, a silk scarf not used in her bindings, and a very cold glass of wine – more for her benefit than his.

When she turned back to the bed, she found Thranduil already upon it, looking at her with some amusement – doubtless enjoying how flustered she was, for all this had been her idea.

Tauriel scowled when she crawled up beside him, taking his left wrist in her hand and wrapping the end of her impromptu bindings, taking his left wrist in her hand and wrapping the end of her impromptu binding around it, careful not to tie it tight enough to cut off his circulation. The bed was so wide that with his other arm bound, he would have little – if any – slack, which shifted her scowl to a smile.

When she’d tied both his arms, she paused to survey him, feeling nearly drunk with power. Even Thranduil’s very obvious amusement couldn’t quell it. He wouldn’t be silently laughing for very long. There was something ridiculously beautiful about him, bound out before her, his silvery hair spread out around his head like a corona on the pillow.

She hopped off the bed to fetch the feather, giving him a good look at it while she climbed up beside him again. Delicately, oh-so-delicately, she ran it down his throat, tracing his collarbones.

The reaction she got surprised her. His eyes fell shut, lips parting, and he drew in a contented sigh. Tauriel hadn’t expected him to be so very responsive. She drew the feather along his jawline and he tilted his head back to give her better access.

“I think it is safe to say you are enjoying this,” she said, fascinated simply by watching him. 

“You have _no_ idea,” he groaned.

Well. She could draw this out into torture, if she was creative enough.

The feather traced down the smooth, pale expanse of his chest and up along his left arm, running over each of his fingers in turn. Back down it came, very slowly, outlining each of his muscles, and then gave the same treatment to his right.

A glance downward showed her that he was indeed enjoying this, very much. She’d give him his ending – but she’d make him beg for it first.

“Stay still, Thranduil,” she ordered, hopping off the bed again. She hadn’t intended to use the scarf as a blindfold, but that would be its purpose now – this would be all the better if Thranduil didn’t know what was coming. She carried both scarf and cup back to the bed, setting the latter on the bedside table.

“Raise your head,” Tauriel said, folding the scarf in half. He obeyed, again with a look of amusement, and she laid it over his eyes, wrapping it around his head three times.

“Now stay very still.” In truth, she was somewhat nervous about doing this, but his reaction would doubtless be worth it. Dipping two fingers into the wine, she drew a chilly line from his stomach all the way up to his throat, and followed it with her tongue. The Dorwinion was sweet, his skin salty, and she immediately wanted to do it again. She could _devour_ him this way.

His groan was so deep it almost frightened her – it sounded as though he were in pain, but he arched into her touch, not away from it. “ _Tauriel_ ,” he gasped, straining at his bonds, and she hoped her knots would hold.

“Yes?” she asked, dipping her fingers into the wine again. The next line went up his neck, and his pulse fluttered beneath her lips. She could so easily kill him like this – all she would have to do would be to sink her teeth into his artery, and there would be nothing he could do but bleed.

She _did_ bite, but higher, and lightly, just below his jaw, and reveled at the sound of savage _need_ that caught in his throat. She half fancied that she could smell his desire, that the unnatural heat of him was growing even warmer under her touch.

On impulse, she sat astride him, pressing down on the bulge in his trousers. Thranduil groaned again, his hips bucking up against her, and _oh_ , that felt good.

“I said hold _still_ ,” she ordered. “All in good time. If you make me spill this wine, I will be very cross with you.” Another line, this one up to his left nipple, which she took into her mouth. He jerked beneath her, but didn’t arch – good King. As a reward, she ground her hips down against his, a sinuous movement that made him shudder.

“You are going to kill me,” he said, and he didn’t sound at all displeased by it.

“Of course I will not,” Tauriel said, mock offended. “I can hardly do this to you again if you are dead. Well, I _could_ ,” she added thoughtfully, “but you wouldn’t be anything like as responsive.”

He laughed, but it cut off in a sharp gasp when she bent her head to his other nipple, this time adding a light scrape of teeth. She could hear the pounding of his heart, and it made her smile against his skin.

“Are you mine, Thranduil?” she asked, running her nails down his chest.

“Yes,” he breathed.

“Are you _sure_?” She nipped lightly at his collarbone.

“ _Yes_ ,” he groaned. “Yes, Tauriel, I am yours.”

“Good. Don’t you forget it.” She scooted back, running her hand along the waistband of his trousers. He was tense beneath her – with desire, with the effort of holding still, or both. 

She unlaced his trousers, painfully slowly, and only took the hard length of him in her hand, when the last lace was undone. In this she had little idea of what she was doing, but Thranduil didn’t seem to care in the slightest, if the noises that left his throat were any indication. Her fingers explored, stroking and teasing, finding out exactly what made him shiver.

He made a sound that was perilously close to a whine when she stopped. “Tauriel,” he gasped, his head thrown back against the pillows.

“Tauriel, _what_?” she said. The feel of having him so totally at her mercy almost made her delirious, headier than the finest wine.

“Tauriel, _please_.”

The sound of that word, the hoarseness of his voice as he spoke it, made _her_ shiver. She stroked him again, but very lightly, creeping up the length of his body. With her free hand she remove the blindfold, and found his pupils blown wide with desire.”You know, I’ve never truly kissed anyone,” she said. “Show me what all the fuss is about, and I’ll grant you release.”

Now the need in his eyes was almost savage. “Come here,” he said, and she’d swear his voice had dropped an octave. “I’ll show you.” The heat in his tone almost made her second-guess herself, but Tauriel was an elleth of her word. She smoothed the hair back from his brow, cupping the side of his face, and lightly brushed her lips over his.

For someone in such a submissive position, he was certainly dominant when it came to kissing. He nipped lightly at her lower lip, and when she gasped in surprise, he licked his way into her mouth, claiming it with almost bruising force. He kissed her as though he wanted to devour her whole, guiding her through her inexperience., teaching as he drank her in like a dying man granted water.

Tauriel moaned before she could help it, heat surging through her. Her fingers stroked almost of her own accord, and she swallowed his groans until he arched beneath her, nearly biting her lip as hot wetness washed over her fingers.

His head fell back, and his entire body went absolutely boneless. When he opened his eyes, they were both sated and wicked. “There are other places I could kiss you,” he said. “I know you are not ready for more, Tauriel, but you deserve a reward.”

Her face flamed, and yet the idea was not at all unappealing. Thought of that talented tongue in _other places_ , as he put it, was not to be passed up.

“Impress me,” she said, wiping her hand on his trousers before rising to untie him.

“I will do my best,” Thranduil said. His pale eyes were actually somewhat unfocused, and when he sat, it was without his usual grace. He kicked off his soiled trousers, leaving them crumpled on the floor. “Take your clothes off, Tauriel, and let me…impress you.”

She was actually a little nervous when she unlaced her tunic – which was ridiculous, since this was hardly the first time he’d seen her with no clothes on. The gleam in his eyes wasn’t helping in the slightest.

He drew her to lie crosswise on the bed, so that he could kneel beside it. “Relax, Tauriel,” he said, hooking her legs over his shoulders. “You will enjoy this.”

And then his mouth was on her, and all trepidation – and coherent thought – fled. He laved her with his tongue, and Tauriel cried out when he reached the little bundle of nerves she’d had such fun with on her own solo explorations over the centuries. Those had never felt like this – he suckled hard, gripping her hips when she writhed, and then his tongue was curling inside her, hot and strong, leaving not an inch unexplored. He was merciless, licking his way back to that aching spot, each flick of his tongue drawing another cry from her. Heat shivered through her, her nerves sparking, pleasure rising and coiling, but each time she thought she’d found the edge, Thranduil eased back.

Tauriel moaned in frustration, trying to squirm out of his grasp, to grab his hands and force him to _get on with it_ , but he was far stronger than her, and kept her pinned in place while his tongue tortured her into gasping, incoherent _need_.

Finally, just when she thought she could take no more, one little suckle and flick of his tongue sent ecstasy like nothing she had ever known surging through her, singing along her every nerve. She’d swear a galaxy exploded behind her eyelids, and even as her cries gave way to whimpers he kept on, drawing her back to the peak almost as soon as she'd come down off of it.

She cried out again, harsh and ragged in her throat, this second climax even more intense than the first, almost to the point of pain. She was breathless by the time he was through, loose-limbed and sated in a way she’d never brought herself to be.

Thranduil kissed his way up her body, and lightly pressed his lips to her brow. “I know you unready for true coupling,” he said, wrapping his right arm around her and drawing her close, “and perhaps you never will be, but you can tie me down and torment me whenever you see fit, and I will find other ways to give you pleasure.”

Strangely…that idea worked for her. Tauriel still did not think she could ever fully give herself to him – not yet, at least, not unless Lady Galadriel managed to work miracles. But this…whatever this was, it felt strangely right. Doubtless others would think it, but they were not others. And they were both more than a little twisted themselves.

“I think I can live with that,” she said, almost shyly, with a small smile.

Thranduil laughed, and drew her up the bed and under the covers. Somehow, in spite of all they’d just done, his embrace was as it had always been before, affectionate but not sensual. Perhaps she needn’t fear things would change much in the rest of their lives after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil might be more than happy to let Tauriel tie him up and do all kinds of kinky things to him, but he ain’t no pushover. At least they’ve exchanged quite a large mutual level of trust now.


	5. Addression

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Galadriel brings a few home truths to Thranduil, who is not at all prepared for them.

Tauriel woke the next morning wrapped up in Thranduil’s arms, as usual, and was relieved to find she didn’t feel at all awkward, even though they’d gone to sleep naked. Aside from that, it was much like every other morning.

She tried to get up, but his arms tightened around her, and he mumbled incoherently. His hair was a complete mess, tangled all around him, and she couldn’t help but laugh.

“I need the bathroom, Thranduil,” she said. “Let me up.”

“But it is cold, and you are warm,” he complained.

“If you would build up the fire, it would not be cold.” She slithered out of his arms, shivering, and wrapped her heavy green robe around herself. His she threw at the bed, where it landed on his head.

“Thank you,” he grumbled, words muffled by the fabric.

“You’re welcome. Now do something about that fire.”

The bathroom was every bit as cold, the stone floor glacial beneath her bare feet. That was the trouble with living in a cave; it was lovely and cool in the summer, but downright frigid in the winter. There was a reason the customary garb of the Wood-Elves included so many layers.

When she went back into the room, she found a fire crackling, but she still tugged on her leggings before briefly shedding the robe so that she could pull on her tunic. Back came the robe, and then she sat on the divan, curled up in a ball, shivering.

“Here I thought my old room grew cold,” she said, rubbing her arms.

“It is difficult to heat one so large,” Thranduil said, sitting beside her and pulling her onto his lap. “I have thought for years of putting in a second fireplace, but I have never actually done it.”

“We should,” she said, tucking her head under his chin. “Winter is too long for this to be endured.” Mercifully, there remained nothing awkward about this, nothing strained or strange; even more mercifully, there was no change in Thranduil’s customary touches. He’d desired her very much last night, but he did not this morning, and that was a massive relief. She liked what they had, and did not wish it to change save on occasions when they both wanted it to.

“I will have it seen to,” he said, stroking her arm. “Meanwhile, hot breakfast and cider ought to help.”

Tauriel leaned back to look up at him. “Normal cider, or the sort you hide in your desk?”

He arched an eyebrow, and kissed her brow. “You truly are nosey, aren’t you?”

“It is not as though I had anything better to do, for six months,” she pointed out. “If it is in these rooms, it is no secret to me.”

“That…is somewhat appalling,” he said, and looked as though he meant it. He ought to, too; while she had found nothing _terrible_ , some of it would be extremely embarrassing. His volumes of erotic poetry, for one thing, as well as his collection of implements used to groom his eyebrows.

“You have only yourself to blame,” she said, trying to card her fingers through the silky fall of his hair. She hit a snarl almost immediately. “I wish I had an artist’s hand, to paint you as you are at the moment,” she said, with a small grin. His hair really did look like a small animal had tried to make a nest in it, and she had left a purple mark where his neck and shoulder met. Thank Eru all his collars were high, or he would have had some rather awkward explaining to do.

“Undignified, am I?” he asked, tucking a strand of her own tangled hair behind her ear.

“Very much so. And yet strangely adorable.”

He looked genuinely offended. “I am not _adorable_ ,” he said, with no small amount of asperity.

Tauriel’s grin widened. “You have not seen yourself in a mirror,” she said. “You are, in fact, adorable. And all the more so when you’re grumpy.”

His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t contradict her – likely because he knew he’d just be playing right into her hands. “I will send Galion for breakfast,” he said instead.

“Brush your hair first. Otherwise he might think you are adorable, too.”

He gave her an unimpressed look, but that possessiveness, the obsession, had risen in his eyes again, a pale gleam. She found that she no longer minded it much, however; yes, it was a little unsettling, but it was familiar, and having all the formidable force of his attention trained on her…it sent a shiver through her, and not an unpleasant one. Perhaps it was wrong of her to enjoy it, but she didn’t care. Still he looked like he had been carved of marble, but there was a warmth to him, albeit an unstable one. He looked at her as though she were the sum of his entire world.

Admittedly, that was also a little worrying – as she’d told him months ago, she could not be the whole of his salvation – but it was also…strangely enchanting. Thranduil’s love for her still wasn’t entirely healthy, and probably never would be, but never in all her life had anyone cared about her so very much.

Kili could have, had he been given the chance – and he would have been much healthier about it, too. But the harsh truth was that she would have been broken by his death anyway, just delayed by three or four centuries. Never before had Tauriel realized that the immortality of the Eldar could be as much a curse as a blessing.

“What are you thinking?” Thranduil asked, tracing her brow with his right index finger.

“Bittersweet things,” she said, resting her head on his shoulder. The fabric of his robe was warm and soft beneath her cheek. “I can put no words around them yet.”

“Do not feel that you must, if you do not wish to.” He stroked her hair, fingers tangling in the knots. “We both need a comb.”

“And possibly some of your special cider,” she said. “This room really is ridiculously cold. It must be beyond freezing outside.” At least she couldn’t actually see her breath in the air, as she had one morning a week ago. A second fireplace was definitely a must.

\--

Winter, Galadriel discovered, seemed to be one long series of parties for the people of the Woodland Realm, with the occasional official feast thrown in. It was often so cold outside that even an Elf would find it unpleasant, and indeed she was uncomfortably reminded several times of the long, deadly trek across the Helcaraxë. Even the Guard ran on skeleton crews, for in the dead of winter there was little to patrol against.

That cold didn’t seem to dampen the Wood-Elves’ spirits, however. Every time she passed the dining hall, she found at least one large group of them seated around a brazier, eating and drinking. Their hearts seemed markedly lighter than they had upon her arrival, no doubt aided by the seeming health of their monarch and his spiritual consort.

That health, however, was partly an illusion. She was beginning to doubt she could ever truly strip the obsession from Thranduil’s mind – it had worked its way into the very bedrock of his being. What he felt for Tauriel would never be truly healthy, but it was real, at least, and pure – though she had her doubts now about the chastity of their union. She would have known if they had actually consummated it, but Thranduil, in the last month, was far more relaxed than she had ever known him. She suspected there had been more experimentation with the chain, of the sort they both actually enjoyed.

No, it was not healthy, but it might be nearly as good as it was going to get. It helped that Tauriel was healing, though Galadriel knew, without needing to ask, that they had not full addressed her captivity. Thranduil had come to understand some of the horror of the chain, before discovering its unofficial recreational properties, but there was so much more that she knew Tauriel had never expressed to him, likely for fear of hurting him.

It needed expression, though, or it would start to fester over the centuries, and breed resentment. This would be pleasant for no one, but if Tauriel would not tell Thranduil, Galadriel would have to show him. Which meant she must first witness Tauriel’s memories herself.

She had not warned either of them, for she would not give them time to balk. They knew only that they were to meet with her today, now that the second fireplace had been installed in their quarters.

The rooms, she discovered, were indeed lovely and warm, bright with lantern-light, smelling of sweet smoke and mulled wine. Small changes had crept in over the months – new books stood on the shelves, jammed haphazardly rather than neatly lined up like those that had already been there. A rack for Tauriel’s bow and knives stood beside the one holding Thranduil’s swords, the wood varnished black and shining in the firelight. 

A second wardrobe, presumably Tauriel’s old one, stood near the outer doors, somewhat battered and worn, and a simple braided rug, quite at odds with the richness of the rest of the furnishings, lay on the floor before the hearth. The room had long since ceased to be Tauriel’s prison, but now it was beginning to actually be her _home_. Galadriel suspected that there weren’t more signs of her presence only because she didn’t have enough things to make them. She also had no doubt the second fireplace had been for Tauriel’s benefit, though they had had to knock down the wall between bedroom and study to build it.

Tauriel and Thranduil themselves lay on the divan, the perfect picture of domesticity to anyone who didn’t know better. Galadriel did take heart in the fact that Tauriel had kept to her simple, functional clothes, only allowing Thranduil to improve their quality, rather than letting him turn her into a doll. He was not trying, consciously or unconsciously, to change her. Her dark green tunic and even darker brown trousers were what anyone in the Guard might wear, but looked to be of fine cashmere rather than wool. Like Thranduil, she had taken to wearing her red hair unbraided – she had no need to, now, and it made it easier for him to run his fingers through it, which he seemed to do constantly, no matter where they were or who was watching.

He was doing so now, so gentle and so content that Galadriel hated having to break the spell, but spell it was – an illusion, though neither could see it as such.

Both sat up when they saw her, and the contentment faded from their expressions when they saw hers.

“Is something wrong, my lady?” Tauriel asked.

“There is something that needs addressing,” Galadriel said carefully, sitting in an armchair. “There is no good time to do it, so we may as well do it now, and get it over with. Tauriel, you still have nightmares of your captivity.” It was not a question.

The girl winced, and Thranduil gave her a startled look. Of _course_ she hadn’t told him – doubtless she wished to pretend they did not exist.

“Tauriel?” he asked. “Do you?”

“Of course I do,” she said peevishly, not looking at him. “I have nightmares about many things, as do you. It is not as though we have not both seen enough horrors.” Her hands were fisted at her sides, knuckles white – yes, that was a sore spot, so very near the seemingly idyllic surface.

“Tauriel, Thranduil, I need to do a transfer of memory between you,” Galadriel said, “lest this continue, and grow into a rift. I know you are content enough now, Tauriel, but your nightmares will not be easily laid to rest, and in time you will come to resent Thranduil’s lack of understanding. He comprehends more now than he once did, but from his own perspective only. He needs to truly know what you felt.”

Both of them paled. “My lady, if you do that, you will break him. I would not wish that on my worst enemy.”

“Tauriel, I deserve it,” he said quietly, looking down at her.

“Yes,” she said, looking back up at him, “you do, but that does not mean I wish to do it to you. I do not think you could endure it and not come out broken – and I stopped wishing to break you months ago.” Her tone was strangely gentle, for all her talk of destroying him. These two really did remain something of a paradox.

Thranduil ran his fingers through her hair, the action seemingly unconscious. “Tauriel, you know something of the horrors in my own past,” he said. “The most recent in yours are my fault. I have some idea of them now, but it is merely that – an idea. I do not wish you to resent me in a hundred years’ time, when you have had one too many nightmares that I cannot understand.”

She looked away, staring into the crackling fire. “In truth, I do not wish you to know how weak I was.”

“ _Weak?_ ” he said incredulously. “You endured months between your attempts to take your own life. You endured and you kept your sanity, which I think is more than most could do – perhaps more than _I_ could do. You are many things, Tauriel, but ‘weak’ is not one of them.”

“You will not think that once you have seen my memories,” she sighed. “Lady Galadriel, must we truly do this?”

“If you do not want to suffer terrible problems later, yes,” Galadriel said. “You can only suppress this for so long, Tauriel, before it starts to consume you.”

She sighed. “Very well, my lady. I trust you.”

“Good. Now pull up the other chair, child – this will not hurt.”

\--

In truth, Thranduil did _not_ want to do this – not for his sake, but for Tauriel’s. Her pride was likely the only thing that had kept her going during those terrible months – her pride, and her unwillingness to be beaten by anyone. Of course she would not wish him to know of her despair, which she surely must have felt.

Galadriel must know what she was doing, though, or she wouldn’t ask this of either of them. While there was much about the Lady he disliked, she was never needlessly cruel.

So he watched, silent, while Tauriel sat across from her, and Galadriel took her hands. Tauriel’s eyes shut on instinct, but to his relief, she did not look at all distressed – whatever was happening, it was not unpleasant to her. Her pale profile was strained, yes, but that, he thought, was mere nerves, her red hair disarrayed from the passage of his fingers.

The longer they say, however, the more Galadriel looked…neutral, and Thranduil did not wonder why. Doubtless she was judging him terribly, as she should. He knew that what he had done was monstrous, even if, as she said, he did not properly understand it. Part of him feared to, for if he did, he might never be able to look Tauriel in the eye again. He felt guilty enough as it was.

It only took perhaps a quarter of an hour, but by the time it was through, Galadriel’s face was like a mask of pale stone, her blue eyes flat and unreadable. “Tauriel, you may leave now.”

“No,” Tauriel said, looking from her to Thranduil. “I would stay, if I may. I would…see.”

She wanted to see how he would react – fair enough. He was quite certain she still sometimes had dark wishes to harm him; every so often he would catch a ghost of a shadow in her eyes, a darker green. Eru knew she had a right to it.

“Then if you would please exchange seats with Thranduil, we will proceed.”

Her hands weren’t quite steady when she did, and he gave her shoulder a light squeeze when they passed each other.

The chair smelled like her, the woodsy-oak scent of her hair, and he sat as still as he could while Galadriel took his hands. Hers were cool, even for one of the Eldar, who tended to have lower body temperatures than other races – he was a notable exception, or had been, since his face was burned.

_You will not like this_ , she sent him.

_I did not think I would_. As Tauriel had told him, she had not tried to kill herself for no reason. After his first taste of what she had endured – the negative part of the chain, before he rendered it ridiculous – he had not wanted to think on what else she had suffered while he was too mad to notice.

_At least Galadriel did not hit him with all of it right away. The first thing she showed him was simple, subtle, and yet completely terrible._

_Always, since the very beginning, had he slept with Tauriel in his arms. He had thought it a comfort to them both, but oh, how very wrong he had been._

_At first, she had been terrified, though thank Eru she had never feared he would try to violate her. Much of her fear had come front not knowing what he_ did _want of her – and from the knowledge that he could break her neck in a heartbeat if he chose. What he had thought to be a comfort was suffocating to her, his arms merely a different sort of chain, yet she dared not let on. In reality, she had no comfort of any sort – nothing but fear, and grief she could not express, that she dared not feel in his presence. Oh,_ Tauriel _…perhaps she did not hate him now, but she had loathed him then. She had lived and breathed nothing but fear, obeying his myriad commands and hating both him and herself. It was no wonder she had eventually snapped._

_And then, when she ceased fearing him, when the worst of his madness broke and he was something like himself again, still she chafed over her imprisonment, even while grieving in a different way, a new pain added to her heart – when she saw more of who he was, who he could have been, and how easily she could have loved him, had he not been such a fool._

_When Galadriel showed him her drowning, it was almost more than he could bear. The rage and grief and utter_ despair _she had felt, even as the icy water closed over her head, the way she welcomed her dark oblivion, welcomed the thought of going to Mandos – and her even worse despair when once again she woke and found she remained in Arda, in the world of the living._

_She could have loved him, but he had destroyed that chance. Fond as she was of him –_ possessive _as she was of him – she did not love him, not in the way he loved her. He had known that already, yet to feel it – to not just know, but to_ feel _what she had endured – nearly broke his heart. There was no way in this or any other world that he could even begin to make it up to her. He ought to ask Galadriel to break her dependence on him, to free her from his hold on her, no matter what he had sworn to her, but he could not. He_ had _sworn it to her, and healthy or not, he would keep his word. He really was all she had, all she wanted, and even though that want was more toxic than either of them had realized, he could not take it away. For better or worse, their fëa were too intertwined._

What will you do for her, Thranduil, now that you understand? _Galadriel asked._

Whatever she asks of me. I cannot – I thought I understood, at least a little. I did not – I had no idea. None. None at all. _He knew that he had frightened her, but he hadn’t known how much he had_ hurt _her. How much she grieved what could have been._

That was the right answer, _Galadriel said._

He came back to himself and looked at Tauriel, who was watching him with great concern. Immediately he went to her, pulling her into his arms, fingers tangling in the soft strands of her fiery hair.

“I’m sorry,” he said against the crown of her head. “I’m so, so sorry. I really did have no idea.”

She crawled onto his lap, wrapping her arms around him in turn. “I know you did not,” she said. “You could not have. Not until you had felt it for yourself.”

“I will leave you,” Galadriel said, but her voice was kinder. “I believe you have much to talk about.”

Perhaps they did, but Thranduil had no idea what to say, aside from an endless string of apologies. What else _could_ he say? Nothing he could offer Tauriel would erase all that he had done, the nightmare she had lived for half a year. There was no atoning for it, no reparation equal to his crime.

“Tauriel, what do you want of me?” he asked, the hoarseness of his voice surprising him. “What would you have me do?”

“For now, exactly what you are doing. Stay with me.”

_That_ he could easily do. He rested his cheek on her hair, stroking her back, wishing with all his heart that he could undo what he had done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Thranduil, you actually get it now. Well done.


	6. After-impression

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Tauriel decides Thranduil needs a metaphorical slap upside the head (and ties him up instead). This chapter is mainly porn – porn with a purpose, but porn nonetheless.

Sorry as Tauriel felt for Thranduil, she couldn’t help a dark sense of vindication. He understood, as much as he was ever going to. She wouldn’t have wished pain on him, but comprehension had to hurt. There was simply no way around it.

So she let him hold her, while he worked through whatever it was he needed to work through, watching the fire burn down to red embers. He would speak again when he was ready. Strangely, she suspected she felt as drained as he did, yet nothing had happened to her.

“Tauriel…I do not know what to say,” Thranduil said at last, his cheek still rested on her hair. “All I can offer are apologies that change nothing. How can you bear to look at me, let alone remain near me?”

“In truth, I do not know,” she said bluntly, even as she snuggled against him. “I know that I ought to hate you, yet I do not. Perhaps because you are not the same person who held me captive. _Him_ I hated, but he was…alien. Not like the king I knew before, or the Thranduil I know now.” It wasn’t that simple, but she couldn’t put words around the whole of it. “I will tell you one thing, however – if you start pushing me away out of guilt, I will be very cross with you. If I can make peace with all of that, so can you.”

He tensed, and Tauriel was certain that was exactly what he had intended to do. Were all ellon this ridiculous, or was it just him?

“Where does this leave us?” he asked, running his fingers through her hair, almost hesitantly.

“Where we have been already,” she said. “I know that you are half-mad and half-broken, Thranduil. So am I. We can only move forward. You can start by combing out all the knots you’ve made in my hair.”

His hand stilled. “I have no right to touch you.”

She leaned back, and gave him as severe a look as she could muster. “ _I_ decide that, not you,” she said. “Not only do you have the right to touch me, you are _going to_ – you will fetch that comb and brush out my hair, and then you are going to rub my back, and you will like it. Or else.”

His face was far too pale, and he swallowed. “Tauriel –” he started.

Her eyes narrowed. “Do I need to tie you down again, Thranduil? You are not going to withdraw from me. I will not allow it.”

He flushed a little, but the sorrow did not leave his eyes. “I –”

“ _Thranduil_ ,” she warned. “If the next words out of your mouth are not ‘yes, Tauriel’, you are going to regret it. Go run a bath. We will deal with this before it becomes a phobia.”

He sighed, defeated. “Yes, Tauriel.”

“Good.” She rose, and pondered, mulling over ideas while he went into the bathroom. She absolutely would not tolerate him feeling guilty every time he touched her – she was far too fond of his constant caresses to give them up. She was going to have to make it very clear that she liked touching him. And with the aid of a silk scarf, she thought she knew how to do it.

That decided, Tauriel rummaged through his wardrobe until she found one – plain black, that he was unlikely to mind sacrificing to the cause. When she went into the bathroom, however, she found him still fully dressed, and deeply troubled. He looked more than ever like a marble statue, his profile tense as he stared into the filling tub.

“Off,” she said. “All of it, now. I know you, Thranduil – you fear your ability to overpower me. Allow me to show you just how much agency I truly have.”

He did not look particularly enthusiastic about the idea, but he must have been willing to try it, for he disrobed, looking more troubled than ever. She really shouldn’t feel sorry for him, but she did. Very much. She shed her clothes as well, in a businesslike manner.

“Wrists behind your back,” she ordered. “If you wish me to stop at any time, you have only to say so, but before we are through, I am determined to show you that I like our touches.”

“Tauriel, you are mad,” he said, but he gave her his wrists anyway.

“This is not news,” she said, careful that she not make her knots too tight. She had to help him into the tub, as his balance was compromised like this.

The hot water felt glorious, scented with rosewater, and as soon as Thranduil had leaned back, she ran her hands up his chest, her touch firm and sure. To her satisfaction, he shivered, his head falling back. The long, pale line of his throat was too tempting, and she moved forward to taste it, his skin both sweet and salty. She could smell him over the aroma of the water – the spicy, rich, _Thranduil_ scent of him, and she relished the hitch in his breath.

“I told you that you were mine, Thranduil,” she said, her hands tracing over his shoulders. “I will not allow you to escape me.”

He groaned when she closed her teeth over his pulse point, very delicately, not even enough to sting. Perhaps, she thought, as she did it again, trailing her fingers over his jaw, he liked to be tied because in this way, he was not actively taking from her – he felt only what she decided he would feel. Perhaps it made him feel less guilty.

They would have to work on that. Eventually.

She kissed her way up his neck, lapping up the droplets of sweat formed by the heat of the bath, creeping up his body to straddle his chest. When she reached his jaw, she sat up.

“Kiss me,” she ordered. He was resistant to her touch, in mind if not in body, and she was going to break him of _that_ right now.

Kiss her he did, but gently, tentatively, giving her the barest taste of the wine they’d been drinking all afternoon. It was up to Tauriel to deepen it, and deepen it she did – he gasped when she gave his hair a good yank, and she put all he had taught her to good use, licking her way into his mouth with all the dominance she could summon.

As she’d suspected, that did it. She drank in his groan as he returned the kiss with real fervor. It seemed that their first go at this was not a fluke – Thranduil didn’t know how to be a submissive kisser. He took control of it almost immediately, dragging her lower lip between his teeth, nipping and sucking and _devouring_ her mouth until she was breathless.

She couldn’t help but moan, heat that had nothing to do with the water surging through her. The sound drew a growl from Thranduil’s throat, and Tauriel tugged his hair again almost without knowing what she was doing.

She broke away only because she needed air, and then she fell upon his neck, biting at his collarbone. This was nothing like their first attempt – her own control was nowhere to be found.

He arched up against her, and she could feel him struggling against his bonds, but there was little in the world stronger than wet silk – he wasn’t getting out of them easily.

A thought occurred to her, breaking through her thickening fog of lust. She sat up, panting, and took his chin in her hand.

“We’re going to try something different,” she said, looking into his desire-darkened eyes. She drew him forward, across the tub, until her back rested against the far side of it. “You are going to kiss me,” she said, trailing her free hand over her throat and down to her chest, “ _everywhere_ , and you won’t stop until I say.”

There was a hint of trepidation, very far back in his eyes, but it was rapidly subsumed by need – which was a damn good thing, because her own need was nearly unbearable.

Tauriel released his jaw, and tilted her head back in invitation. Thranduil evidently needed nothing more, for his mouth was on her at once, kissing the column of her throat with almost bruising force.

“No marks where anyone can see them,” she gasped. She did _not_ want to make that explanation, and she doubted he did, either.

The force of his kisses abated, but only a little. She tangled her hands in the soft fall of his hair, but let his mouth travel as he wished, her eyes falling shut as he worshipped her body like an altar.

When he reached her left breast, she shivered as he nipped at the sensitive skin, soothing the sting with his tongue. He kissed his way to her nipple, already hard, and Tauriel choked on a cry when he took it into his mouth, laving with tongue and teeth. Pleasure shuddered through her, pleasure and _need_ , jagging along her nerves like errant lightning, coiling in her abdomen. She arched on instinct, her grip tightening in his hair, but just now Thranduil had mastery – even with his hands bound, he knew exactly what he was doing.

“ _Thranduil_ –” she started, but whatever she was about to say fled when he switched his attention to her other breast, giving it the same treatment. She was whimpering, and she didn’t remotely care, so long as he kept going. Her legs squeezed together as she threw her head back, desperate for friction.

He must have felt that, for he stilled. “This will be much easier if you untie me,” he said, his lips brushing her skin. “You can always re-bind me later.”

She ought to say no, to force him to continue as he was, but she simply couldn’t do it. Not when she was half convinced she would combust if he didn’t keep touching her. And the fact that _he_ wanted to, that it seemed he was no longer hesitant, had to be a good sign.

“Stay here,” she said, breathless, and hauled herself out of the tub. Of course she dripped a trail of water all the way out into the bedroom when she went for her hunting-knife, and because the fire had burned down, she shivered until she was back in the warmth of the bathroom.

Thranduil made a strange, beautiful picture, standing chest-deep in the water, hands bound in submission but blatant, possessive hunger in his eyes. Wet strands of silvery hair clung to his shoulders and his chest, his skin pale and smooth as marble, but his face was flushed. The sight of him only made the heat in her belly intensify, and she was tempted, oh-so-tempted, to fully give herself to him.

But not now, not yet – not when they were both still so raw. Whenever that happened – and by now she was sure it would, eventually – they both needed to be calm.

She slipped back into the water, and carefully sawed through the wet silk. As soon as she had set the knife aside, Thranduil turned and pulled her into his arms. His kiss was deep, but languid, lacking the urgency of earlier. He tasted, of course, of wine, but primarily of _Thranduil_ , rich and nameless and frighteningly addictive. Tauriel wrapped her arms around his neck, winding her hands in his wet hair, and let him lead.

Eventually he must have sensed she needed air, for he broke away, kissing his way down her neck. His left hand slipped between her legs, stroking and teasing, and she cried out when he bit down on the juncture of her neck and shoulder.

“Let us see how many more times I can make you do that,” he said, his breath hot on her skin, his voice dropped to a register so deep it made her toes curl. Yes, there was most definitely something to be said for leaving his hands free.

Tauriel wanted to say something to that, something witty, but wit – and thought – fled when Thranduil eased one finger inside her, his mouth returning to her skin, peppering kisses across her chest. What left her throat was a strangled, undignified moan, and she clutched at his shoulders to steady herself, nails digging into his skin.

She felt as much as heard him laugh, and he granted her another finger, slowly thrusting in and out, his thumb rubbing at that spot that made her head drop onto his shoulder, her breath quickening and shallow.

His fingers twisted inside her, and sent a bolt of wholly unexpected ecstasy shooting through her. She bit his shoulder to muffle her cry, keening as she shamelessly rode his hand. She’d thought what he did with his tongue incredible, but it had nothing on this. Her legs were trembling, her breath coming only in gasps, and still he pressed on, grabbing her chin with his free hand and guiding her mouth back to his.

A second climax hit her with all the force of a falling star, and Thranduil swallowed her cries, wringing every ounce of pleasure he could out of her, until she was spent and boneless, barely able to hold herself up.

He slipped his hand free, his arms wrapping around her waist, and kissed her again, but softly now, gentle and calming. _How_ could someone who took such pleasure in submission be so very dominant now? Tauriel had no idea, but she was beyond grateful for it.

“Your turn,” she said, still shivering with the aftershocks of her climax. “As soon as I can move, that is.”

Thranduil laughed. “Take your time, Tauriel. I could watch you like this for hours.” 

She looked up at him, smiling in a slightly blitzed way. “Do you believe me now, when I say I wish you to touch me?”

“I think you have made your point. I would not mind if you continued making it.”

Tauriel kissed him. “I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, it worked. And Thranduil might be a total sub, but that doesn’t mean he can’t take control when Tauriel wants him to.


	7. Decompression

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Thranduil has some serious issues (like that’s anything new), Tauriel does, too, and they try to figure out what they can do without Galadriel’s help. In spite of everybody’s best efforts and intentions, this isn’t anywhere close to a healthy relationship. I know this is a short one, but I’ve been grappling with this story for months now.

That night, Tauriel slept well, but Thranduil lay long awake, troubled.

That he could bring her such pleasure made him feel beyond powerful, but it was that feeling that unsettled him. His regard for her had always been pure, spiritual rather than carnal. Some part of him had always known his obsession with Tauriel was wrong, but because his want for her was not physical, he’d always told himself that it was not _truly_ wrong. He was not some disgusting Edain king, with a base craving for flesh; he wanted no concubine, no mistress. Tauriel herself was too pure, someone to be worshipped, not debased.

This was hardly debasement, and yet he felt strangely guilty. Watching Tauriel, touching her, listening to her…he wanted to fully take her, to make her scream for him, and yet the thought also wracked him with shame. For centuries, he had told himself that Tauriel was not to be touched that way, not to be thought of in any way that was not chaste. 

She certainly seemed to have no such concerns; she was snuggled up against him like always, her head rested on his shoulder. Even now there was something clean about her, something he feared he would taint in some way. He was old and broken and more than a little toxic; Tauriel was young and filled with light, and he felt as though he were sullying her in some way.

She’d probably hit him if she knew his thoughts. If she’d felt at all debased, she would have let him know in no uncertain terms – and probably kicked him while she was at it. Tauriel was no shrinking violet, no naïve girl fallen prey to his advances – she’d been the one to advance on him.

His fingers traced down her back, smoothing over her soft nightdress. She had no idea how illusory her control over him really was, that he obeyed purely because he wanted to. Both times she had tied him up, he could have broken her bonds easily, but he’d wished to give her control, wished to let her do as she would. He knew she could have no inkling just how easily he could overpower her if he chose.

Well, no, of course she did. She’d spent so many months sleeping in his arms because she had no choice; she was fully aware of his strength. But if that was truly the case, how could she stand to be near him now? 

Was there any purity left in his regard, now that she wanted him – now that he had let himself want her? The fact that he even could crave her physically troubled him. Immensely.

He would have to ask Galadriel. She might well be the only person who could give him an answer.

He couldn’t…he couldn’t _defile_ Tauriel. She certainly didn’t seem to think that was what he was doing, but how would she know? She who was so wholly inexperienced….

At least he hadn’t actually taken her. He’d given to her, and what he’d taken from her had been at her command, so he wasn’t certain it counted as taking. She had gifted it to him, and controlled everything. And yet he was afraid.

“I can hear you thinking,” she said sleepily, mumbling into his shoulder. “If you are second-guessing last night, I’ll kick you.”

Thranduil laughed before he could help it. “You know me too well,” he said, tucking a strand of red hair behind her ear. “I cannot help it. You are pure, Tauriel, and what I want of you has always been pure. Now…things are changing.”

“Things have been changing since you…woke up,” she said, sitting up to look at him. “That is not a bad thing, Thranduil, but it sounds as though you are not yet ready for it. I don’t want you to feel that you are not allowed to touch me, but that doesn’t mean we have to do what we did last night.” She looked away from him. “My own motives…weren’t precisely pure. Aren’t. At least, I don’t _think_ they are.”

He touched her chin, trying to guide her gaze back to him, but she refused to meet his eyes. “What do you mean?” 

Tauriel frowned, clearly torn. “I want to own you, Thranduil,” she admitted. “Mind, hröa, and fëa. Even I know that’s not right. One person can’t own another, yet…I do not know how to _not_ want you that way. I think I understand what it is you’ve felt all these centuries, though I think I might be even worse. There is nothing pure in it. I can’t pretend to justify it, even to myself.”

Such a pair they made, he thought sourly. “Tauriel, you _do_ own me,” he said, tracing his finger along her jaw.

She turned away from him, her frown deepening. “You shouldn’t say things like that,” she said, bowing her head, hair obscuring her face. “You are a person, Thranduil, with a mind and will and heart of your own. I can’t own that, and you shouldn’t let yourself believe that I can. You shouldn’t want me to. I won’t make you – ” She broke off, apparently unable to finish the sentence.

Unfortunately, she didn’t need to. Thranduil had a terrible, heart-gnawing feeling that he knew what she’d meant to say. “You don’t want me to feel like you did,” he said, sitting up and resting his right hand on her shoulder. “You can say it, Tauriel. The fact that I fully believed that all I did was for your own good does not make it in any way better than what you feel now. You are simply more honest with yourself than I was capable of being.”

There was, he knew, another large and very crucial difference: Tauriel did not love him. His love might be warped and twisted and unhealthy, but it was real – but Tauriel? She was fond of him, yes, very much so, but she didn’t love him. Their shared madness had made her _need_ him, had left her as emotionally reliant on him as he was on her, but what she felt wasn’t love, and probably never would be. Yes, the chain had been rendered ludicrous, but neither of them were ever going to forget that it had once not been – Tauriel especially.

Thranduil both blessed and cursed Galadriel, for showing him just what he had put Tauriel through. It was better that he know, that he understand, but at the same time, he was quite sure she would never love him, and he knew why.

_Where does that leave us?_ he wondered. Could they truly go on like this for the rest of their eternal lives? It was one thing to be with someone because you loved them, but quite another to stay because you literally could not bear to live without them. Yes, it was working for now, but it had also only been a little over seven months since they came to any sort of understanding. It was still so new, and so fragile.

But the worst part – the part he hadn’t even told Galadriel, and would never tell Tauriel – was that he’d do it again. Oh, he would be smarter about it – there would be no chain, no locking her away from the sun – but if he were offered the chance to revisit the aftermath of the battle, the opportunity to leave Tauriel free, he wouldn’t take it. This might be strange and unhealthy, but he wouldn’t have it at all if not for her imprisonment.

He was a monster. He’d known it all along, and he didn’t think there was anything he could do about it at this late date. What he hated was the fact that Tauriel thought _she_ was the monster, when she had absolutely nothing on him.

“Tauriel,” he said, “look at me.”

She did, turning to face him and brushing the hair out of her eyes.

“You _have_ owned me, whether you like it or not, for centuries,” he said. “My mind and my heart, sick though both may be. It brought you misery, and grief, and fear, for you did not ask for it, but the whole of me has been in your hands far longer than you were aware of. But I cannot touch you like that. Not again. It is…” He did not possess the words to describe just how wrong it felt, how foul _he_ felt.

He hadn’t known how she’d react to any of that, and was relieved beyond measure when she touched his face. “Thranduil, I would never wish you to do anything you were not comfortable doing,” she said. “I do not want you to fear to touch me, because I crave our contact, but as I said, that doesn’t mean we have to do more than this.”

“You will not come to resent it?” he asked, running his fingers through her hair.

Tauriel shook her head. “You silly fool, I would never have thought it an option if not for that chain,” she said. “I am content with what we have.”

Content. Always, she said ‘content’, never ‘happy’, and Thranduil wondered if she ever would be. Yes, for now she still grieved her Dwarf, but he feared that even once her grief was spent, happiness would elude her. He wondered if she would ever be aware of all the things he had broken within her mind.

“You look too troubled to sleep,” she said, when he didn’t respond. “We might as well take a walk in the moonlight.”

“Tauriel, it is frigid outside,” he pointed out.

“I know,” she said. “It will give us both something else to think about, even if that something is our frozen fingers.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to write them with a sexual relationship. I tried and tried, and it just didn’t work. What they have is too odd and too damaged to have anything sexual actually be healthy, and I just couldn’t make Thranduil get over his weird obsession/purity issue. (Which sounds ridiculous, since I’m the writer, but seriously, I just couldn’t get him to do it.) It felt as wrong to me as it does to him.


End file.
